


Service

by YIWT



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIWT/pseuds/YIWT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has a whip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Response to an LJ prompt: "Loki has a whip." This is a minifill, but I like Loki having a whip, so I might write a full version someday.

 

* * *

Clint was on guard. Loki was plotting, something with maps and diagrams, something complicated. He'd been at it all day.

Around midnight he said: "Barton." Didn't raise his voice, didn't need to.

Clint stepped up to the desk. "Yes sir?"

"Need to borrow you for a minute, sorry. I'm feeling a little stressed."

"No problem." And it really  _was_ no problem. He felt completely peaceful. "What do you need?"

"See over there – on that hook by the door? Go get it."

Clint went to the hook and it was a whip.  _Loki's magic is pretty fantastic,_ he realized, because he felt completely peaceful about this too.

* * *

Months later, Clint was in therapy. Ordered by Fury, nudged by the team, whatever. They made him talk about things. He cooperated, mostly to reassure himself that he really  _wasn't_ all that traumatized, but there were one or two things he just never happened to mention.

The whip was number one. He had never gotten hard during a whipping, which he supposed was something to be thankful for – at least Loki hadn't managed to turn him into a kinky freak. He  _had_  enjoyed it, though. Right from the start, from the first light  _snap_ of leather on skin, right up to the end, when he was hitting hard enough to make Loki cry.

 _Do you want a few more, sir? I think you're good for at least another dozen._  Loki would cling to the doorway and gasp  _No I can't_ , and Clint would talk him through it, steady and pitiless. He had a good eye, a deft touch. He gave such a stellar beating he could earn a god's gratitude.

He was proud of that, he was, but still those were nights he would never ever talk about. The trust. The surrender. The dark lines on pale skin.

When they finally caught Loki, after he'd simmered down and had his drink and been fitted with bizarro magic handcuffs, there was one moment where their eyes locked and Loki's mocking half-smile disappeared.

"Barton: thank you for your service," Loki said. Everyone else thought it was meant to be a dig.

* * *

**The End.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **This is Loki spelling out his orders for Clint on that first evening.**

* * *

Clint handed him the whip fearlessly. "Clothes off?" he guessed, hands to his jacket zipper.

Loki hesitated for just a second, puzzlement, then nodded with a wide smile. "Ah – no, sorry, let me clarify. I would like  _you_ to beat  _me_. It will be a service you perform for me according to my precise instructions, so pay attention – if I just wanted a careless battering I'd go find my brother. Do you understand?"

Loki's manner was easy, but he pulsed with power. Clint could  _feel_  it, could feel the idea coming in from the outside:  _This is completely normal, doesn't strike you as strange in the least. Pay close attention, and give your master what he wants._

And it  _was_ completely normal, and it  _didn't_ strike him as strange, and he felt himself rev up, eager to begin, a new mission that he would do _perfectly_ the way he did everything else.

So he nodded, took the whip back and slung it around his neck. "Orders, sir?" he said, at attention, hands clasped.

Loki looked him over. "Good. I'm going to strip to the waist; I want to be lashed on my bare back. Do not hit me in the face or the crotch or anywhere else I'll find unpleasant." He frowned. "You  _do_ know how to use a singletail whip, don't you?"

Clint nodded again. "It's part of standard weapons training. I've never used it like this, but I should be able to figure it out. I won't miss target, anyway."

Loki relaxed. "Good. You're to begin with lighter strokes, and build intensity gradually. Do you understand? Your goal is to beat me as long and as hard as you can, and if you start off too savage..."

"... It will be too much and we'll have to stop," Clint continued for him. "And that's not what you want. Understood, sir. I'll push you as hard as I can, without pushing you over."

"Good. You're to continue until I tell you to stop. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"And you  _are_ to stop at once when I finally order it. Is  _that_ clear?"

It would not ever have occurred to him to do otherwise. "Yes sir."

"And finally: if I give you instructions about refining your technique, you're to obey them. But if I... make requests," he said delicately, "For you to... adjust the severity of what you're doing... I leave it entirely in your hands whether to indulge me or not."

He waited. Clint paraphrased it, to show that he understood. "If I'm doing something wrong you'll tell me, and I should fix it. But I can ignore you if you whine."

Loki grinned and brought his hands to his collar. "You are the best decision I have made since arriving on this miserable rock. Clear the furniture out of the way; that thing needs some space."

"Four-foot radius," Clint agreed absently, and started arranging the room. "Stand over there, sir. And tell me when you're ready."

"You'll know when I'm ready." Loki stood in the doorway, shirtless and facing away, and let out a deep breath. "Are you?"

Clint pulled the whip from around his neck and cracked it once or twice. He snapped it against the wall, against some furniture, against the doorknob beside Loki's hip. When he was sure he was comfortable with it, he said: "All set here, sir."

Loki reached up to grip either side of the doorframe, widened his stance for balance, and bowed his head.

* * *

**The End (?)**

**As of now I have no plans to write any more of this, but then again, that's what I thought last time too.**

**Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Post-whipping, Loki's (dazed) POV.**

* * *

It was some time before his ears stopped ringing and his mind began to work. His first bit of awareness of the world around him was the soft sound of a cleared throat behind him. "Sir?"

Loki swallowed, and noticed that his throat felt raw – still. The sounds he had been making must have shredded it completely. But he was healing. He swallowed again and tried to speak. "Yes, Barton?" It was hoarse but steady.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"No. In fact why are you still here?" Loki snapped, but without force. He was just too worn out. "I told you we're finished."

"I'm here because you're blocking the doorway, sir." Barton was completely cool.

"Mm." Loki didn't yet move. "I don't require any help."

"No sir, didn't say you did. But you're dripping wet and starting to turn cold; somebody should dry you off."

True enough. As if by magic Loki's body was suddenly racked with a powerful shudder. He clung harder to the doorframe and realized he had never been so cold in all his  _life._ "Care to do the honors?"

"If you want me to." Immediate and implacable.

"Yes. There's a towel on the table."

He could just as easily have conjured it directly into Barton's hand, but he liked the sound of Barton's steps moving across the room. Helped him keep track of where the little bird  _was;_ it was disconcerting to know that he was wandering around loose back there.

Loki heard the soft  _thump_ of the whip being set down. He felt himself breathe a little easier and had to grin. Barton had done a phenomenal job; had actually  _scared_ him, scared him and hurt him to the point that he did not want even one more lash.

Barton shifted – right behind him now; how had he gotten there so quietly?

Loki pressed his forehead against the door. It felt cool, pleasantly cool... his face must be overheated then, but the rest of his body really was freezing. He shivered again.

"Go on," he said. "You don't have to be gentle."

"Course not, sir." But he  _was_ gentle, in a way – Loki was all braced up for a painful scrubbing over his lash marks, but instead Barton just dabbed. Firm short pressure, just once on each spot, cleaning up all the abused territory swiftly before moving on to rub the towel down Loki's sides and around his ribs. "You sweat a lot."

"It hurt a lot. Is there blood?"

Barton stepped away. "Mmm... no," he decided, after looking for a while. "There was, but you healed already. There's still a couple of raw spots, though. I can put antibacterial stuff on it if you want."

Entirely useless – the wounds would disappear on their own before long. But he nodded and made a weary gesture with his casting hand. "It's in your pocket."

Barton pulled the cream out. "Hold still and I'll rub it in. Actually: sit, sir. The light's better."

Loki forced himself to stand straight and went to the chair. He kicked it around and straddled it backwards, arms folded over the chair back to give him somewhere to rest his head. "Go on."

Again Barton's touch was quick and sure. Rubbing, this time, with small circular motions, rubbing over spots where Loki remembered particularly fierce lashes. There was very little pain left, though. Now he mostly felt tired, and cold, and uniformly sore all over.

"This all right, sir?"

Loki seriously resented the question – the idea of reassuming command was  _exhausting,_ and he would much prefer Barton to just carry on as if he were the one in charge.

But of course that could not last.  Loki nodded into his arms, and ordered: "Bring a blanket when you're done. Then you can go – and go straight to bed," he added. He could hear the authority creeping back into his voice. "No acting against my interests, no hurting my other minions, no plotting against my plans. Clear?"

"Yes sir."

The rubbing stopped after a while, and then something warm and soft was around him and he forgot all about authority in favor of cuddling into it.

"All set, sir?"

"Mm."

Barton didn't say anything else – didn't bid him good night, or pet his hair, or anything else Loki had been concerned about. All he did was snap a salute, turn on his heel and leave.

Hanging the whip carefully by the door again on his way out, for next time.

* * *

**The End. (?)**

**So, there was Loki's POV... although not really; he's kinda dazed and not having much of a POV just now. So we still didn't quite get into his head, sorry. But let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:  Takes place after Loki is in custody at the end.  This one has a WARNING, for VIOLENCE, with a WHIP.  It's not too bad though.**

* * *

“I thought you might come,” Loki said, and rose from his table – a plain metal table, bolted to the cell floor.  Before he could say anything else Clint cut in.

“I came to ask whether you want one more round of _wh-psh_ ,” he said calmly, miming a whip crack.  “Now that I’m finally myself enough to enjoy it.  You son of a bitch.”

He had expected Loki to refuse, or possibly (because he really did seem to crave this shit) to agree but demand all kinds of elaborate oaths and promises, and storm and threaten that he better not step a _toe_ out of line or Thor would crush his head.  But instead, the god just shrugged and said: “Can you be reasonable despite your anger?”

(Define _reasonable._ )

But he nodded, and so Loki took off his coat and his armor and his shirt.  He looked around the cell carefully as if choosing a location – as if he had much to choose from! – and then finally climbed up on the bed.  He knelt facing the wall, and braced both palms against it.

* * *

Clint knew he would get further in the long run if he had Loki's cooperation, and to get Loki's cooperation he needed to start out easy.  So, somehow, with incredible willpower, he fought down the urge to take the bastard's head off with the first stroke, and snapped it lightly against his shoulderblade instead.  Second stroke... same battle, same result.  Once he got really started and found his rhythm, though, it got easier to play by the rules.  It felt familiar.

Though it wasn't _quite_ the same.  Loki usually took the first few minutes in utter silence, but today he was grunting and tensing almost at once.  The marks looked different, too: instead of the usual few welts stark against his white skin, this time his whole back reddened and stayed that way.  When Clint lashed over a mark that was already there, Loki shouted.

“Keep quiet,” Clint said coldly.  He didn’t _like_ this further proof of how badly Loki had mind-fucked him.  In his memory the whippings were calm, almost collaborative – Loki relaxing in between strokes, nodding that it was all right to go on.  But now, with his head clear, he saw things for what they really were – Loki cut up, wheezing, twisting around in pain – and it was disturbing.

But Clint was not easily disturbed.  His hands never shook during a mission, his mind never blanked.  He thought it over and decided that Loki should be punished all the more for having tricked him, and he stepped up the pace.

Loki brought an arm in front of his face to muffle the noise and didn’t complain.

“Doing good, sir,” Clint murmured, habit, and when he realized what he’d said he _hated_ it and carefully aimed a lash directly on one that had already started bleeding.

“ _MMN!  MMMNNN.”_   Loki pounded his fist against the wall.

“Hold still.”  But Loki still squirmed, so eventually Clint cracked the whip right by his ear to terrify him.  “I _said_ , hold still.”

Loki moved his arm.  “I can’t,” he gasped, high-pitched and shaky.  “I _can’t_.”

“Well, then I’m just going to hit you while you’re moving.”  He raised the whip and took careful aim.  “But I can’t control it as well that way, so I might get you somewhere sensitive.  Sorry.”  He let fly and hit his target perfectly: a big raw scrape that had made Loki yelp the _first_ time, and now, striking it again drove him near out of his mind.  He threw himself down to the bed and banged on it with both hands, wailing into the pillow.

Clint watched the tantrum impassively.  It was lovely to see.  “How’s that?”

It was a while before Loki got enough control to drag himself back up into position.  “If you don’t slow down I’ll have to stop.”

In other words, he wanted to keep going.  Excellent.  “Fine.  I’ll go nice and steady, the way you like it… _after_ you take a couple more good ones.  Say… five.”

Loki flinched away so wildly he smacked his face into the wall.  “ _No_ ,” he gasped.  “No, Barton I’m warning you, I _order_ you- I-… ah, fuck.  _Fuck!_ ”  He shrieked it.

Clint waited.

“ _Once,_ ” Loki said at last.  His voice was shaking.  “You may strike me… _once_ … in that fashion…  and then… you’ll be gentler.”

“Three,” Clint decided.  “You can do three.”  Could he?  It was hard to know; the pain looked pretty serious.  Loki must be crazy, to ask for this night after night.

Loki let out a whimper but didn’t argue, so he cocked his arm back.  “Three it is.  Ready, sir?”  The next lash was _brutal,_ Clint would freely admit that, but Loki took it in complete silence.  It occurred to Clint that he must be holding his breath. 

“Ready again?”  Loki actually nodded this time.  But when the stroke landed he collapsed, bumping his head against the wall, sinking down limp to the bed.  “Loki?”  No answer.  “Did you just faint?”  Nothing.  So he cracked the whip by Loki’s head again, so loud it gave _him_ a headache, but Loki still didn’t move.  

“See, this is why we don’t hold our breath when we’re getting hurt.”  Clint waited a moment, but Loki didn’t wake up… and, even more strange, the oozing lash marks didn’t miraculously close the way they usually did.  Clint looked him over and realized it was probably the fault of the stupid magic handcuffs – without his magic Loki wouldn't be indestructible, would he. 

He made a face and went to go find Bruce; this was going to need a couple of bandaids or something.

* * *

**TBC.  There’s one more chapter, coming soon.  This fic kind of snuck up on me and had there be a plot, which I hadn’t been expecting.  Oh well.**

**Let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:  Takes place immediately after last chapter.  This is the end!**

* * *

“Let me get this straight.”  Bruce marked an imaginary timeline in the air.  “The prisoner was fine.  You went in to visit the prisoner.  Now the prisoner needs medical attention.”

“No!  I mean… okay, yes, but that sounds worse than it is.  He’s fine.  It’s a bacitracin-and-bandaids thing, I just… I just don't want to go _take care of him_ , okay?  He had me do it a couple of times in Headqu-... in his lair, and I just... don’t want to.”

Ugh.  “I don’t blame you,” Bruce said at last.  “And… I guess I’m impressed that you stopped at the bacitracin-and-bandaids level to begin with.”  He grabbed some supplies.  “Let’s go.”

* * *

But he changed his tune a bit when he saw Loki lying facedown on his cot half naked, bloodied and unmoving.

“Clint!”

“What?” Clint was defensive, almost angry.  “Usually he takes way more than that – I think he doesn't heal as fast with his magic drained; usually the bleeding's done before I'm even fin-”

“Bound,” Loki growled from the bed.  Sounding hoarse and thick, almost drugged.  “My magic has been _bound,_ not _drained._ ”

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever.  It is the difference between being _blinded,_ and blind _fold_ ed.  It matters.”  He dragged himself up slowly to his hands and knees, unsteady.  “And yes – apparently my ability to heal has been severely compromised.  What happened?”

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, and shifted his feet as if... as if he was fighting the urge to step closer.  “Uh... you passed out.  You didn’t say stop, so I hit you pretty hard, and... um.  Sorry sir.”  Then he blinked.  “You know what: fuck you, Loki.  I brought Bruce here to clean you up, and there: I'm done.”  He stormed out.

Loki shrugged, and turned around to present his back.  “Clean if you like.  I don’t care.”

He _sounded_ haughty enough, but then he flinched hard at the sound of a packet tearing.  Bruce snorted.  “Calm down, it’s just gauze.” 

“Of course.”  Loki was quiet and still for a bit while he was worked on.  Then eventually, still facing away: “How long will this take to heal?  I’ll want to dress in the morning; will it be gone then?”

His back was all angry red, decorated with raw glistening _whip marks_ (there was no other explanation for the wounds but that, bizarre as it was)... and he thought it would be all better in a couple of _hours_?

“Not a chance.  It'll be scabbed over in a few days, but you'll wear lines for a while.  Some of this might even scar.”

“Oh.”  Loki shifted a little.  “How about the pain?”

“It'll get better, and you'll get used to it.  But some of these – like here on your shoulderblades – are going to hurt for a while, because when you move they're going to get pulled on.”

“I see.”  Loki shook his head.  Sighed.  “All that from a handful of lashes.”

“Yeah.”  Bruce attempted to glare at him from behind.  Not so effective.  “That’s what it’s like for humans all the time, Loki.  We get _hurt_.  We have _consequences._ ”

“Yes, yes.”  Bruce could _hear_ the eyes rolling.

“What the hell were you doing getting _lashes_ anyway?  Do I need to have words with Clint about the humane treatment of prisoners?”

Loki laughed.  “No – it was my own request.  A welcome distraction.  Next time you see Barton, convey my thanks.”

That was sort of the impression he’d had, but still.  Wow.  “Yeah.  Uh, okay.”

He was still finishing up when Thor burst in.

* * *

“Why was I not told about this?”  The voice of the Son of Odin shook the walls.

Loki turned to face him, disrupting the doctor’s work.  “About what?” he said, innocently.

“About your punishment, brother.”  He said it through grit teeth, clearly at the end of his patience, clearly trying to hang on.  “I would have stayed with you.  I would not have forced you to bear the shame of a flogging alone.”

The doctor moved again to his back and resumed applying medicines.  “From what I understand it wasn’t a punishment, Thor,” he put in.  “From what I understand your brother requested this.”

“Requested…?”  Thor looked puzzled for a moment, and then his face opened up into an expression of dumb hope.  Loki wanted to punch it.  “You wish to make atonement.”  His eyes were shining.  “Brother, I swear I will-”

“I didn’t say I wished to make atonement,” Loki interrupted.  It was too ludicrous to let him go on.  “I was upset, and pain is calming – that is all.”

“Apparently he makes a practice of getting his ass beat in order to relieve stress,” the doctor added.  “It’s actually not unheard of here on earth.  Anyway though, maybe he usually heals in a couple of minutes, but without his magic, he’s going to be wearing these a while.”

“ _With his magic bound,_ ” Loki corrected over his shoulder.   The horrified look on Thor’s face was excellent, so he decided to add to it.  “I’m assured that the healing will begin in a matter of days.”  He flicked one of the blood-spotted pieces of gauze from the bed and watched it flutter to the floor.

Thor’s mouth twisted.  “Days?”

Loki tapped his cuffs together.  “Admittedly my timing was not ideal.  But I was feeling unhappy, and Barton offered, and I’ve always found our sessions together quite helpful.  Unfortunately today didn’t work as usual: before I was even _nearly_ satisfied, he beat me into unconsciousness.”  He flashed a grin.  “You should take notes from him, brother.  It’s been a while since you’ve managed to knock me out yourself.”

“Loki, stop.  You know I would never wish this upon you.”

“Oh, of course not.”  Loki clanked the cuffs together again.  “These certainly weren’t _your_ idea.”

“Well-…” Thor wore a look of extreme constipation.  Perhaps he was trying to _think_.  The poor thing.

Loki guessed where his thoughts were going, and helped him along by rising and turning away as if to dismiss all visitors.  “Thank you, doctor.  Good night, Thor.  I’d prefer to be alone if you don’t mind.”

He could almost _feel_ Thor’s gaze on his lash marks.  “Loki…”

“I said good _night,_ brother.  I am in pain and your presence is not helpful.”

Suddenly Thor’s voice was hard with determination.  “Loki, I would _be_ helpful, if you would let me.”

He still did not turn around.  “Oh?”

“I could remove those shackles.  For a few moments only, brother – even if I would, _which I would not_ , for you have done terrible things… even if I would, I have not the authority to pardon you on my own.  But I could free you long enough for you to heal.  If you swear to me that you would surrender yourself again afterwards.”

“Hm.”  If he agreed too quickly, Thor would change his mind.

“Loki, please.  Let me help you.”

Loki set his face into a look of doubt and turned around.  “I suppose if I miss these wounds I could always ask Barton to give me new ones,” he mused.  “But Thor, I don’t _need_ help.  Don’t you understand, I asked for this.”

“Perhaps.  But you are not well.”

“Oh?  Is that so?”  Out of nowhere anger rose up, real anger, overriding his plans.  “How much bloodshed could have been avoided if you had noticed that fact a little earlier!”

“I have failed you – I know that.”  It sounded like he was trying to soothe a nervous horse.  “Let me make amends for it.  Let me start now.”  Thor came close, and in his hand was a key.  _The_ key, the one that would undo the cursed binding and…  “Loki.  Look at me.”

Loki looked, trying to keep his face blank and wounded-looking.  That generally moved Thor, even when words failed.

“Brother, I will free you to return yourself to health – and afterwards you will submit to this bondage again.  Swear to me.  Look me in the eyes and swear it on your life, and I will trust you.”

Loki paused, to make the moment feel more weighty.  Then:  “I swear it on my life.”  He held his wrists out.

At the last moment, the doctor spoke up.  “Thor, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”

But as usual Thor would not hear reason.  He unlocked the cuffs and stepped away.

Loki rubbed his wrists and felt the magic flowing through him again.  He felt the prickling itch of healing on his back, sudden and powerful, and within a matter of moments the pain had ebbed and faded.  He spun around to show off his recovery.

Thor nodded, but his expression was sad.  He beckoned with the shackles.  “Now come, Loki.  I am sorry.”

Loki smiled at him.  “On the life of a frost-giant, Thor?  A frost-giant we have _both_ tried recently to kill?”  He waited for Thor’s eyes to widen.  “Farewell, brother.”

“Loki, _no-!_ ”

But with a quick gesture of his casting hand, the room filled with smoke.  The doctor choked on it, Thor roared and called for his hammer, and Loki strode calmly out the door, drawing a spell of invisibility over him as he went.

* * *

Clint was in the breakroom getting coffee, when the alarm started going off.

Before he could even turn away from the coffee machine there were hands on his shoulders and a voice in his ear.  “Barton.”  _That voice._

“Oh, fuck you,” he breathed.  The last he’d seen, Loki was practically unconscious.  How had he…?

“Calm yourself,” Loki said.  “I have harmed no one with my escape.  Consider their lives a present from me to you, a token of my appreciation.”

_That_ set off warning bells that were louder than SHIELD’s alarm.  After everything, Loki still wanted to part on good terms with him?  Clint knew exactly what that must mean.  “Do _not_ show up on my doorstep with that whip again, Loki.  Not ever.  You got yours and I got mine; we’re finished.  I mean it.  I’ll shoot you and I won’t lose a minute’s sleep.  Stay away from me.”

“Ah.  As to that I make no promises.”  Loki laughed softly.  “Reliable help is so hard to find these days.”  And then he was gone.

* * *

**The End.**

**There we go.  All done!  Soon back to Family.  Sorry for this little detour – my muses are so unreliable!  And, Avengers!Loki is such a jerk.**

**(Actually, there’s one little d/s-themed oneshot that I’m probably going to post here tonight or tomorrow.  It doesn’t involve a whip, but it’s twisty Loki/Clint power and pain stuff.  I wrote it this morning when I was supposed to be doing laundry.  Oops.)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

**Bonus round!!**

**One more Loki/Clint sorta d/s. This one’s not whip-related, and it’s just a one-shot. I expect this to be the last one, unless I magically get hit with any more ideas.**

**I think brainwashed!clint hanging on to some of his normal human impulses makes sense, especially because Loki can't keep him on** _**too** _ **tight a mental leash or he'll be too stupid a minion. And I think that even if he can be compelled to work with Loki to the best of his abilities, he can't be prevented from delighting in Loki's misery.**

**Also: do not try this one at home.**

* * *

“Sir. Do you have a minute?”

For Barton, Loki always had a minute. The man was a paragon of efficiency, had yet to waste one single second of his time. “Of course.”

They walked down a tunnel a ways for a quiet room as Barton began. “I want our guys to start carrying this.” He showed off a metallic canister. “It’s pepper spray. Do you know what that is?”

“No, but I will.” He stepped up and put his hands to Barton’s temples. “Think about it now.”

The images he got – people collapsing, clutching at their faces and howling with pain – were promising.

“No permanent harm,” Barton explained, “But immediate near-incapacitation. Our people should all have it with them when they’re expecting contact with civilians – we need a way to handle noncompliance without a bloodbath. If you’re serious about ruling the world, a reputation for demanding obedience can be a good thing… a reputation for massacring civilians, not so much.”

By now Loki knew when his thrall was withholding. “I can hear that you haven’t told me everything. What did you leave out?”

Barton squared up and admitted: “That bloodbaths sometimes repeat on me, sir. I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Mm. I see.” The perils of being human. Loki took the can and hefted it doubtfully. “Will this work on Thor, do you think? That would certainly be entertaining.”

“I don't know, but I'll be happy to figure it out.” Barton took the can back, and flicked a switch off the top. _The safety,_ said Loki’s newfound knowledge of pepper spray. “I think you’re the closest thing to Thor’s physiology we have around here, so:” And before Loki could react, up came the can and it hissed to life.

“Wh- _AH!_ ” He ducked away, but too late: there was mist on his face. For a second he sifted desperately through his new information to figure out what you were supposed to _do_ after getting pepper-sprayed, but then his entire world was burning and he couldn’t think.

 _Be quiet. Stop panicking_ , he ordered, but he couldn’t quite reach himself, he wasn’t listening, his body was too busy stomping blindly around the room knocking into things. He was doubled up, grabbing at his eyes, snarling and flailing like a wounded animal.

“Let go. Let go.” Barton’s voice. “Let go – rubbing makes it worse. Let go.” His hands were finally pried away from his face and he tried not to fight.

He did slap himself in the chest though, to indicate that he _couldn’t breathe._

“Yeah, you inhaled some. Don’t worry about it, this stuff hurts but it’s not harmful. Just breathe normally.”

He couldn’t speak but he could still bowl the mortal over with the force of his thoughts. _So help me Barton FIX THIS or you’ll regret the day you were ever born._

Barton answered him aloud. “Okay, okay, I’ll be right back – I have milk in the other room, milk’s supposed help a little. I’ll rinse you off. Okay?”

Loki grabbed around and caught a wrist. _Wait._ With a surge of power he conjured milk, a bottle of it, and a moment later something blessedly cool was pressed to his face and he whimpered.

Barton’s voice was muffled, now. “That’s right: cry if you can. Tears flush it out of your eyes faster.”

The milk-soaked bundle on his face was leaching some of the pain away at last, so that even though his eyes burned more fiercely than he had ever thought possible, he was able to start thinking again. “How long?” he choked out.

“You'll rinse off, and then another twenty minutes or so you’ll be mostly okay. Some of the burn’ll stick around for a few hours, though. Sorry.” A pause. “On the upside… in answer to your question, it looks like pepper spray _will_ work on Thor.”

Loki huffed. “Order some. Lots. Now hush and I’ll heal up. I don’t have twenty minutes to waste.” He focused his powers and soothed the burning that was in his eyes... but no sooner had he cooled it than it was back again. _No._ He swallowed a sob; magic had been his best hope for fixing this, and now…

“Sir? You okay?”

“No.” He was _miserable_ : he was blind, his skin hurt, there was burning poison in his mouth and down his throat. His lungs seared with every breath, and it had gone up his nose so that his whole head felt full of flames. _Why can’t I heal?_

“Because you’re not hurt. You just have _stuff_ on you.”

Ah. With that bit of information Loki changed strategies: ignored the pain, and focused his powers instead on vanishing all of the irritant. Flushing it out and vanishing it, and once he did that the pain faded quickly, all on its own.

Once he at last felt better, he pulled away and tried to blink his vision back.

The light still stung, but he could see all right. Barton was standing shirtless, so Loki plucked the dripping black bundle from his hands and conjured it dry again. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, sir. Feeling better?” Loki had never seen anyone look so smug in all his life.

He got up off the floor and dusted himself off. Stood to his full height. “You should have asked my permission before you did that.”

“Yep.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you.”

“Yes sir, I figured. It’ll be worth it, though.”

Loki laughed. “A man after my own heart. Well. What shall I do – spray you right back? That seems fair.”

Barton handed the spray over and squared his shoulders.

“Hm.” Loki glided around to his back and shook the can slowly. He put a hand on Barton’s neck to feel his pulse quickening. “Open your eyes,” he ordered.

He came back around front and stared into them. “Wider. Good.”

He moved close enough that they could feel each other’s breath. “Your mouth as well.”

Barton did as he was told, but his lips were trembling as he fought the urge to flinch. Sweat shined on his forehead.

“Wider. Open it until your jaw aches.”

Barton did, shaking everywhere now.

“Good.” Loki moved to the side, and leaned in to whisper. “When I tell you, I want you to inhale – a full breath, breathe it in. Do you understand?”

Barton gave a tiny nod, and as he did a drop of sweat slid down his cheek.

“Let me hear you do it: inhale.”

Loki listened intently, and shook his head. “No – I want you to breathe in through your nose _and_ your mouth. Try again – let me hear.”

He did as he was told. “Good.” Loki stepped around front again, and raised the can a foot from Barton’s face. “You’re to hold still for this,” he said. “Is that clear? If you move before I’m finished, I’ll pin you down and do it again – every morning for a week.”

Barton’s throat leaped and he shuddered, but he gave a nod.

“On the count of three, inhale.” He shook the can one last time and aimed it. “One.”

Barton’s eyes were wide open and fixed on a point somewhere off in the distance. Loki wondered what he was thinking about.

“Two.”

Nice and _slow_ , giving time for the terror to build...

“ _Three._ ”

Barton did actually inhale – at least until the shock of _not_ being sprayed overtook him. He gasped, stuttered stupidly, blinked and blinked. “You-… aren’t gonna…?”

“I’m feeling generous.” Loki grinned and patted him on the cheek. “Next time you won’t be so lucky. Catch your breath, Agent, and get back to work.”

He turned to leave, and was almost at the door when a soft “Sir?” called him back.

“Yes?”

“You should do it.” Barton’s voice was absolutely flat.

Loki turned and made eyebrows. “Oh?” He gestured for an explanation.

“I can see you’re not naturally a hardass, Loki, but if you’re really planning on taking power and keeping it, you can’t afford mercy all the time. You have to be able to be cruel – and be good at it. You should practice, now when it doesn’t matter.”

Loki had to battle down a sudden urge to spray _himself_ again. The thrall was right, was absolutely right. Even a _slave_ knew how to be a better ruler than he did.

“Thank you for your counsel, Agent Barton. I think you’re correct. Assume the position.”

Barton opened his eyes and mouth, holding absolutely still except for the heaving of his chest as the can was raised to his face again.

“Inhale on the count of three.” This time the count was short and steady, no more drawing it out just for fun. “One, two, _three._ ” He pressed down the button and _held_. Barton stayed absolutely still for one long moment…

They broke at effectively the same time, Barton doubling up with a grunt just as Loki opened his hand to let the can fall. They were both rubbing at their eyes, Barton involuntarily and Loki because his had stupidly started burning and tearing up in sympathy.

He watched his servant writhe and cough and choke, and he wondered if perhaps he should not have insisted on the man inhaling – surely a facefull of the poison would have been punishment enough?

No. He knew that that was faulty thinking; it was better to err on the side of caution with punishment and he really did need to learn to stop being so soft-hearted. He had done it right.

… but he still conjured a basin of milk on the floor and guided Barton’s flailing hand to it before he went out.

*************************************************

**The End.**

**Poor Loki. That’s not what you expect of such a model minion. “Yes sir, no sir, MACE TO THE FACE SIR!” What a nasty surprise. I think the only way Clint’s able to do that is if he can make himself actually, genuinely believe it will help Loki’s plans along.**

**Let me know what you think!**


End file.
